The expression on Meng Yao’s face must have been extremely ugly. Even without turning around, Li Zhihuan could guess it.
In her mind, she silently gave Qi Weiguo a thumbs-up for his performance just now.
She didn’t know whether he truly failed to detect Meng Yao’s “tea-flavored” insinuations or was deliberately protecting her, but the outcome was good.
This man, though cold, was at least clear-headed when it mattered.
Back home, Qi Weiguo placed the small basket on the table. His gaze landed on the soft fabrics and sewing tools.
“…These are for me?”
he asked, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty even he didn’t realize.
“Mm. I made you a new set. It’ll be more comfortable to sleep in.”
Li Zhihuan replied casually, already tying on an apron to start cooking.
Her answer was too casual, too matter-of-fact, as if it were simply part of her job description.
A strange irritation rose in Qi Weiguo’s heart.
These past few days, he had felt this more and more.
The house was clean. The meals were fragrant. Everything was orderly—better than ever.
And yet something felt wrong.
There was an invisible wall between him and Li Zhihuan.
That wall was thicker and colder than the closed doors of their separate rooms.
She treated him well, cooked for him, made him new bedsheets.
But that “goodness” felt like the completion of a task—precise, efficient, but completely without warmth.
The way she looked at him was calm, like he was nothing more than…
a business partner.
Or worse, a long-term meal ticket.
That night, they ate together in silence as usual.
After dinner, Li Zhihuan efficiently cleaned up the dishes.
Qi Weiguo watched her busy figure in the kitchen, and that irritation only grew stronger.
Finally, when she finished washing and walked out wiping her hands, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Li Zhihuan.”
“Mm?”
She looked up, a hint of inquiry in her expression.
“Let’s talk.”
Qi Weiguo sat upright in his chair, posture straight as a steel rod. His expression was serious, like he was about to hold a military briefing.
Li Zhihuan sat down opposite him, already guessing what he wanted to say.
And indeed—
Qi Weiguo stared at her intently and asked word by word:
“In your eyes… what exactly am I? And what is this family to you?”
He didn’t like this feeling.
This feeling of being reduced to a symbol—something that only provided financial support.
He was a living person, with flesh and blood, pride and dignity.
Li Zhihuan looked at him.
Under the light, his sharply defined face looked even colder, and his eyes carried restrained emotion.
She understood immediately: this was a boundary issue.
Her “slacker life” was now facing its first audit from the “investor.”
She needed to make things clear—draw the line cleanly and decisively—if she wanted future peace.
So she smiled.
A bright, even slightly dazzling smile.
“Captain Qi, that is a very good question.”
She leaned forward slightly, adopting the professional posture she used in her past life when pitching to clients.
“I think our current relationship is a very healthy and advanced cooperative model.”
“Cooperative model?”
Qi Weiguo repeated the unfamiliar term, his brow furrowing deeper.
“Yes.”
Li Zhihuan snapped her fingers.
“Simply put, you can think of this household as a startup project.”
“And you, Captain Qi,”
She pointed at him.
“are the sole shareholder and investor of this project. You provide all the startup capital and operating funds—your salary and allowances.”
Qi Weiguo’s expression had shifted from serious to blank confusion.
He couldn’t understand a single word she was saying.
But she didn’t care and continued enthusiastically explaining her “business model.”
“And me,”
she pointed to herself,
“I am the CEO you hired for this project, as well as the COO—the Chief Operating Officer. I handle daily operations and management, including logistics, meals, and household maintenance. My goal is to use your capital to create a stable and harmonious home environment, so you, the investor, can work outside without worries and create even greater value.”
She spread her hands, concluding:
“So you see— you provide the funding, I provide the labor. Clear division of roles, defined responsibilities, shared goals. Isn’t this a perfect partnership?”
The room fell into dead silence.
Qi Weiguo looked as if he had been struck by lightning.
Shareholder? Investor? CEO?
None of these strange words made any sense to him.
But he understood the core meaning.
He was the one paying.
She was the one working.
Their relationship… was a transaction.
All the warmth he had felt—the braised pork, the “come home,” the soft moments he couldn’t quite name—
were instantly shattered by her cold, clinical “business theory.”
So everything she did for him… was just part of her job.
And the way she looked at him—
was just like looking at a walking wallet.
A surge of anger—and something else, something like frustration—rose in his chest.
Qi Weiguo stared at her face, bright with excitement from her “project explanation,” and at her eyes that were clear and lively…
but held none of his emotions at all.
He felt like a fool.
“So,”
His voice was low and slightly trembling, suppressing something like a storm beneath it.
“In your eyes… is that all there is?”
“Of course.”
Li Zhihuan nodded without hesitation, her bright smile almost blinding.
“Battalion Commander Qi, operating capital is the foundation for the sustainability of our project. As the CEO, of course I have to take it seriously. Without your investment, I can’t function as CEO either, right?”
She was about to continue speaking—something about a five-year development plan, about maintaining and increasing the value of their household assets.
But she never got the chance.
Because a large hand suddenly grabbed her wrist.
The force was so strong it made her bones ache.
Qi Weiguo stood up. His tall frame carried an overwhelming pressure, completely engulfing her.
He leaned down, his eyes locking onto hers tightly. In them was no longer the cold stillness of an iceberg, but two burning flames of anger—emotions she could not understand.
His face was very close to hers now, his hot breath brushing across her skin.
His voice was forced out through clenched teeth, word by word, low and dangerous in a way she had never heard before.
“Li Zhihuan… just what the hell… are you?”